


A Song for Sandor Clegane

by luvxena



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Consensual, Dubious Consent, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Masturbation, Rape/Non-con References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-17
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-18 22:08:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/565803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvxena/pseuds/luvxena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sandor Clegane arrives at the Gates of the Moon with his fellow silent brothers from the Quiet Isle and discovers that Sansa Stark is alive and well and is being passed as Littlefinger’s bastard daughter Alayne. Feeling guilty about abandoning her, he decides to make it up to Sansa by making her forget about the night of the Battle of the Blackwater when he showed up drunk in her room and demanded a song from her at knifepoint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sandor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_moonmoth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_moonmoth/gifts).



> Written for a [Comment Fic Meme No. 2](http://sansa-sandor.livejournal.com/68611.html) prompt at the [Sansa_Sandor](http://sansa-sandor.livejournal.com/) community on LJ. This story has been wonderfully Beta’d by [zsra187](http://archiveofourown.org/users/zsra187/pseuds/zsra187) <3<3<3

**SANDOR**

Sandor Clegane was walking as fast as his slight limp would allow him, his head bowed low against the wind and the snow that was falling in big wet lumps to the ground. He was trying to hide his face, even though the hood of his dark cloak was deep enough so that it already hid most of his tell-tale burns. His keen eyes darted left and right, taking in his surroundings and the few people he came across.

He’d changed from his brown-and-dun brother's robes to a simple woollen brown tunic, a pair of leather breeches and some warm boots. A dark and heavy woollen cloak was clasped around his broad shoulders to protect himself against the cold and the snows of winter that had already reached the Vale. A short sword hung at his left side, fastened around his hips by a leather belt.

His steps were urgent and his mind was racing.

Earlier today, he’d been admitted along with Brother Narbert and the few other silent brothers from his party into the solar of Petyr Baelish, Lord Protector of the Vale, and Kings Landing’s former Master of Coin.

They had arrived at the seat of House Royce (now also temporarily Lord Baelish’s seat for the coming winter) in the bright early morning after a long and arduous trek from the Quiet Isle taking the long-way round; reaching Gulltown first by boat from Maidenpool situated to the south-east of the Isle on the banks of the Bay of Crabs – having some business to take care of in both towns first – and then making their long slow trek to the Gates of the Moon by horse and cart through sleet and snow, on some gods dammed mysterious errand from the Elder Brother – an errand which Sandor wasn't bloody privy to.

In fact, he didn't even know why in the Maiden’s teats the Elder Brother had even sent him there in the first place. “Bugger the Elder Brother and his damn secrecy,” Sandor grumbled under his breath.

Since Littlefinger knew him from King's Landing, Sandor had stayed well away at the back of the room, standing to attention like his other fellow brothers, with his arms shoved inside his large bell sleeves, his back leaning against a tall and large bookcase full of ancient books and his shoulders hunched over in order to avoid any unwanted attention to himself and his massive height. He’d kept his face down and well hidden beneath his deep cowl, and the lower part of his face was covered by a piece of cloth. There was no chance of anyone noticing the burnt side of his face and identifying him as the former Lannister Hound, the supposed butcher of Saltpans.

And since he was a silent brother, well, he bloody well didn't need to say a fucking word now, did he? No one would even recognize his raspy voice.

His mind had been idly wandering over boring matters, such as how in the Stranger’s name he was going to manage to dig more graves on the Quiet Isle with the ground now starting to freeze solid (they would probably have to store the bodies somewhere cold), and whether there were women and wine to be found at the Gates of the Moon, when he finally noticed the young woman sitting on Littlefinger's left – an Alayne Stone, Petyr Baelish's bastard daughter.

The girl had stayed so resolutely quiet the whole time during which Baelish and Brother Narbert, one of the proctors of the Quiet Isle and the Elder Brother’s representative on this delicate mission, had had a rather heated exchange about grain or something of a similar nature – Sandor wasn't really paying any attention – that he hadn't really taken notice of the girl at first.

But he did now.

At first glance he could see that she was tall, almost a head taller than the father by whose side she was demurely sat. Her hands were clasped in her lap, her head bowed slightly down. But Sandor knew her quietness actually hid an active and inquisitive mind and that she was in truth listening intently to the heated exchange between her father and Brother Narbert.

She had a mane of dullish brown hair that didn't really fit with her pale complexion and the dress she was wearing was a simple blue woollen gown; a dress fit for a bastard daughter even if her father was an important man. But what struck Sandor was that the blue of her dress also seemed to match the blue of her eyes – eyes Sandor Clegane felt he had seen before but yet couldn't quite exactly place _where_.

Somehow, as if she could read his mind, the girl seemed to feel Sandor's gaze boring right through her from across the room. She lifted her delicate face and those incredible blue eyes met his unflinchingly. In the space of a heartbeat, Sandor felt as though someone had just punched him in the guts with a mailed fist. The face that looked right back at him was that of his little bird – Sansa Stark.

*****

Sandor headed straight for one of the few brothels situated right outside the Gates of the Moon. The establishment he was looking for was one of the more discreet ones, a little off the beaten path – he didn't want to make it common knowledge that a silent brother of the Quiet Isle had frequented such a . . . _unholy_ establishment, so he had changed his clothes to make himself anonymous. He would be one more sellsword amongst dozens already teeming there.

Sandor's mind was still reeling from this afternoon’s discovery that he had found Sansa Stark alive and well in the Vale, and he suddenly needed to fuck a woman, bad. He also needed lots of wine, so he could drink himself into a stupor. While he had recognized _her_ , Sandor felt she hadn’t recognized _him_ , shyly lowering her eyes again not long after she had held his gaze.

Ever since Sansa Stark had vanished from King's Landing on the night of King Joffrey's wedding to the Knight of Flower’s sister, Margaery Tyrell, and murder, he’d known that his little bird was probably lost to him forever. It took him a long time to accept that fact, but with the Elder Brother's help during his time as the gravedigger on the Quiet Isle; he had finally made his hard peace with it. Or so he thought.

But seeing her again, _here_ of all places had brought back some old painful memories he thought long forgotten and buried with the Hound.

Bugger him. How wrong had he been.

The memory that kept haunting him ever since seeing Sansa again was the last time he had been with his little bird back in her chambers in Maegor's Holdfast, on that fateful night during the Battle of the Blackwater. Gods! He’d been so drunk that night after fleeing the battle! He could barely think straight.

Sandor shamefully recalled how he had been waiting for his little bird in her bed, drinking himself into a stupor as he was in the habit of doing, when she finally appeared. Scaring her senseless, he had pulled her onto the bed and pressed himself heavily on top of her. He’d put the sharp steel of his knife against her throat and demanded his bloody song. The poor child had no idea that what he had really wanted to do was to fuck her. But in her complete and utter innocence she had sung the Mother's Hymn and cupped his burnt cheek, reaching a part of him he had thought long buried and dead, and he’d _fucking cried_.

Ripping off his white Kingsguard cloak and leaving it with her, he’d then left Sansa behind for the fucking Lannisters to do with her as they pleased. He _left_ her unprotected against Joffrey’s malice and cruelty.

Bile rose in his throat. How could he ever have done that to his little bird?

He felt even sicker when he realized that the Elder Brother must have known that Sansa Stark had been here in the Vale with Littlefinger and that her being here was the whole reason why he had sent him with Brother Narbert and the other silent brothers in the first place. _Fuck the Elder Brother and his buggering mysterious ways. I’ll strangle him with his own guts the next time I see him. He should have told me she was_ here _; he should have told me the truth. He knew how I felt about the little bird. So why send me here knowing full well she was hiding here, in the Vale, as Littlefinger’s bastard daughter?_ Sandor felt himself getting angry, a pure, cold rage seething at the back of his mind.

Then Sandor Clegane was suddenly struck with an idea.

He decided that he would make it up to her. That he’d make her forget that damned night when he had scared her and put his knife against her perfect white throat.

*****

The brothel he was looking for was straight ahead in a narrow alley. It was a tall building, four stories in all, but it wasn't very large. He made his way towards it with a new purpose in his step.

As soon as he walked into the front door, a middle-aged woman dressed in bright red silk robes, a black wig, too much make-up, and bearing her breasts welcomed him into her establishment, fawning over him.

Sandor tossed a gold dragon almost carelessly her way. “I want a red-headed whore. Young and tall, if you have one. But one with experience and I will need her all night. Also, add a few skins of wine, sour red,” he rasped.

The woman smiled at him, replying that she had such a girl. She clapped her hands together. “Saanya,” she called with a melodious voice. _Fuck, even her name sounds similar to Sansa’s._ A few seconds later Saanya appeared almost out of nowhere and came to stand beside the brothel's owner.

Sandor eyed her up and down. She wasn't as tall as his little bird and her body was rounder, with heavier teats and wider hips. But her hair was almost the same bright auburn as Sansa's natural hair color and her eyes were blue. She was rather a pretty thing, and he thought she would do very nicely for what he had in mind.

He nodded his approval to the establishment's owner, who gestured to the girl to take care of their new customer. Saanya slipped a soft arm through Sandor's, but he flinched at the touch.

“Pardons, m'lord,” she said, smiling seductively at him. “Will you come with me?”

“I'm no fucking lord,” Sandor growled. “In fact, I'm no one, so you better remember that.” But he followed her through a long corridor, then up two flights of stairs before she ushered him into a warm, dimly-lit room. All around him he could hear the sounds of people fucking through the thin walls and he felt himself going hard.

In the middle of the room was a rather large bed, covered with some nice clean sheets and a pile of furs. It looked clean enough, cleaner than many a brothel he had frequented in his life.

As soon as the door was closed behind them, Saanya quickly slipped off the thin green and gold silk dress she had been wearing by unclasping the two silver brooches that fastened it together. She let it fall to the floor, where it pooled at her small feet, then she turned, fully naked except for a silver chain that hung on her hips, towards Sandor. “What would m'lo... _no-one_ like?” she purred seductively.

“Quiet,” Sandor rasped. “I'm not here to be fucked by you.”

“What would your pleasure be then, no-one?” she asked him, her face a complete mask of seduction and innocence all rolled into one. As a whore she would have seen – and done – all kinds and sorts of perversions. But most whores never liked to deal with those kinds of customers. Better to fuck and be fucked quick and fast and move on to the next one. Well, it was at least always that way in _his_ experience.

Most of the whores he’d fucked always wanted him to leave as soon as he had gotten into their beds. They didn't like the look of his half-ruined face much, nor his gruff attitude, so he usually just ended up taking them from behind, fucking them hard and fast so he could quickly reach his release, and leave them almost as soon as he had spilled himself inside their cunts.

Sandor walked over to Saanya and pressed another gold dragon into her hand. “This is for forgetting I was here as soon as I leave this room, is that understood?” Then he added for good measure in a low, dangerous growl, “Or I'll come back and slit your throat.”

The girl's eyes widened in fright for a second, but then she looked at the gold dragon he’d given her and slowly acquiesced.

When he was satisfied, Sandor lowered the hood of his cowl, exposing his burnt face to the girl. If she realized who he was _then_ , she kept her face free from any emotion and refrained from flinching. _Good girl._ She then walked slowly towards him, hips swaying alluringly, and took one of his massive hands into her own small one. They were soft and warm and Sandor could smell her perfume, which wasn't unpleasant at all. Most whores always over-perfumed themselves but this one smelled of winter roses.

She brought his right index finger to her mouth and suckled on it lightly, making his cock jump in his breeches.

“And . . . What does no-one wish to do with me, then?” She asked, her blue eyes lifting up to meet his gaze, her lips pursing into a tiny pink smile.

Sandor fisted her hair roughly and brought his face down close to hers. “I want you to teach me how to please a woman.”

*****

The next night, back at the Gates of the Moon, Sandor was completely clad again in his silent brother's robes so he could stroll the keep more freely and, seeing no guards around, easily found and broke into Sansa's room. He snorted at how easy it was to walk around a castle keep when dressed as a holy brother. _Buggering fools._

His little bird was still in the great hall eating and feasting with that damned “father” of hers and the rest of the small company of brothers. He looked around the room to see where he could hide until she came back; reminding him of the time he had hid in her chambers on the night of the Battle of the Blackwater. He felt bile rising up again at the back of his throat at the thought, so he quickly brushed it aside.

The room was big and warm and a crackling fire was burning in the fireplace to fight against the cold that seeped through the stone castle walls. A large bed was laid against the wall in the middle of the room and it was covered with fine silk sheets and a pile of soft warm furs. He also noticed that her bed gown was already laid out onto her bed for her.

In one of the corners, Sandor noticed a high backed chair that could be pushed further back into the shadows for him to sit on as soon as his plan was set in motion.

As luck would have it, Sansa had left a tall glass of water on the table by her bed, so Sandor slipped in one measured drop of essence of nightshade (enough to make her fall asleep fast but not enough to make her sleep all night). His little bird would fall asleep quickly and then when she’d wake up he would go through with his plan. He smirked at the thought, then retreated to a corner that was well kept in the shadows, despite the few lighted candles already flickering in her room. _Perfect._ With his back to the corner, he started to wait for his little bird to return from the feast. 

He didn't have to wait too long before Sansa finally slipped into her room, barring the door behind her. An hour, it might have been? He hadn't really paid any attention to the time, his head full of what he had planned for her.

He saw her walk to her bed, his eyes following her every movement from his hidden corner. Feeling exactly like the voyeur he was, Sandor got a sudden jolt of arousal from the thought. He watched her sit on the bed for a few minutes, while she sighed loudly before she rose again and slowly started fumbling almost absent-mindedly with the laces of her gown. _Fuck._

Her laces now undone, he watched Sansa push her dress from her white shoulders and let it fall to the floor, seeing it pool softly around her feet as she stood there clad only in her bodice and her smallclothes. The sight of her almost naked made Sandor’s cock start to harden inside the breeches he’d kept underneath his brother's robes and he barely managed to resist the urge to rub himself over the heavy layers of fabric.

Sandor stood as still as his long years of training as a Lannister soldier allowed him to, barely allowing himself to even _breathe_ while he lurked in the dark shadowy corner. Figuring it didn’t mean he couldn’t take a good look at the girl, his eyes started raking over every one of Sansa’s womanly curves.

If he could have, Sandor would have groaned loudly as he felt his cock start to press harder against the now too-tight laces of his breeches. He closed his eyes against the growing temptation of seeing Sansa naked and palming his hard bulge through his clothes. _Follow the buggering plan._ He breathed slowly.

He heard her, rather than saw her, getting rid of the rest of her clothes before hearing more rustling from her direction (putting on her bed gown, no doubt), then he heard her get into bed and drink the glass of water he had previously drugged. She gulped it down quickly and it wasn't long before she fell into a drug-induced sleep, her breathing becoming even and deep.

_Good. Now, for the first part of my plan . . ._

As soon as he was sure his little bird was sound asleep, Sandor slipped out of the shadows, took out the length of rope he’d brought with him and proceeded to tie her arms to the headboard of her bed in a tight knot. He paused for a heartbeat, looking at Sansa’s beautiful sleeping face, tracing the line of her jaw with light, calloused fingertips, rubbing his thumb over her soft cheek. _I will make you look at me little bird, and I will make you give me that song willingly._

It wasn’t until he gave a ragged exhale that he noticed he’d been holding his breath the entire time.

Then he slowly pulled down her bed covers so he could drink in the soft curves of her body. Even clad in her bed gown Sandor could see the nice swell of her breasts: they had grown even bigger than last he’d seen her. They weren't big and heavy like Saanya's had been but Sansa's teats looked rounder and firmer. A young woman's teats. _You have grown little bird._

Raking his eyes over her again, he noticed the small pink nipples showing through her almost see-through bed gown and, further down, right between her legs, he saw the thatch of red hair that covered her mound. Sandor licked his lips at the thought of darting his tongue between her slick folds, lapping at her sweet cunt, giving her pleasure, making her moan his name, and he groaned deeply. His cock was starting to throb almost painfully already and he felt a wetness seep through his breeches.

His hand started trailing over Sansa’s sleeping form almost on its own accord, but Sandor stopped himself. He would deny himself the pleasure of touching the rest of her body, alluring as it was, until she was awake. Then he would make her sing for him.

It took all of his will power to turn away from her and sit himself in the high backed chair in the corner of her room, moving it so he could still be in the shadows, while still allowing him an uninterrupted view of her sleeping form on the bed. Sandor felt that it was getting a bit too warm in the room for his taste, so he decided to rid himself of his brother's robes, carelessly throwing the hated garment in a heap behind the chair.

He slumped back against the chair, dressed only in his breeches, and stared hard at a sleeping Sansa, his eyes roving salaciously over his little bird’s body once more.

He noticed how she had grown taller again, that her hips were rounder, larger. _A woman's hips now_. Her skin looked soft, it had _felt_ soft when he had touched her cheek a moment ago and he started to imagine how the rest of her body would feel under his hands when he could finally caress her; how her nipples would feel between his fingers, how they would harden in his mouth under the onslaught of his tongue . . . As the image of their naked bodies entwining flooded his mind, his hands started to roam over his stomach, slowly fumbling with the laces of his breeches.

Sandor groaned. His cock was as hard as Valyrian steel at the vivid thoughts playing in his mind; of what he would do to his little bird as soon as she’d wake up, of the pleasures he planned to give her. He was so hard it was starting to get nigh on uncomfortable, so he grabbed and released his aching cock from its prison.

With his eyes still on Sansa, Sandor started to slowly stroke himself. He had to make his pleasure last as long as need be. Then Sansa would wake up, and he could finally make her sing the song she once promised to give him so gladly.


	2. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first paragraph in italics was kept as is since it was so perfect and was [the_moonmoth](http://archiveofourown.org/users/the_moonmoth/pseuds/the_moonmoth/works)'s original prompt for this fic

  
**SANSA** _  
_

_Alayne woke with her hands bound and secured above her head to the headboard. She fought against her bonds instinctively before her eyes settled on the dark shape sitting in the chair in the corner of her room – a man, broad and tall, muscles cast in moving shadows from the flickering of the candle, and shirtless with his breeches unlaced, stroking his engorged manhood as he looked at her lying there in nothing but her bed gown. Her heart raced in fear until he sat forward, the candlelight falling suddenly on his ruined face, and he rasped, "Little bird, as far as you're father's concerned I'm a holy brother sworn to silence, and I'll be gone in the morning long before he wakes, but I won't leave until I've had what I want from you, and if you scream, if you ever tell anyone, I'll kill you," and Sansa's heart raced for an entirely new reason._

Because in front of her, sitting in the quasi-darkness of her room was Sandor Clegane, the former Lannister Hound and Joffrey’s dog; a man she hadn't seen for over two years now and whom she had thought long dead – before she heard about the horrors of Saltpans. Still, she had never believed one word of it, it could never have been the Hound raping women and children. _Never_ , she thought fiercely. She had been sure of it. No, her Hound was dead and she had cried and cried for him until she’d made herself sick, not eating or sleeping for days – almost arousing  her father’s suspicions about her feelings for King Joffrey’s former dog.

But now he was here – all flesh and bone and blood and strong sinewy muscles and very, _very_ much alive.

He had slumped back into the chair but from the rhythmic movements of his arm and shoulder, Alayne could plainly see that he had resumed stroking himself. She could hear low grunts emanating from his big hulking frame and somehow the sounds made her womanly place start to ache dully between her legs.

Alayne squirmed again. The urge to fight against her bonds was still strong, even though she realized, mouth dry, that she had no real desire to be free of them . . . at least not yet. Her nails scratched at the headboard but eventually she stopped struggling, deciding to settle herself as comfortably as she could in the middle of her soft feathered mattress, waiting for the Hound’s next move.

She could still feel her heart racing wildly in her chest from the raspy sound of his voice and from the plans he had just admitted to her . . . was that really why he was here? To _have_ what he _wants_ from her? _Gods!_ Alayne could feel a deep blush creep across her cheeks, spreading all over her body. She’d had dreams of the Hound before, dreams where she had found herself bound and tied for his pleasure, being completely at his mercy, with him using her as he very well pleased – but this was real wasn’t it? _He_ was here. Unless she was dreaming again . . . she did feel a bit groggy. But no, the sharp pain at her wrists felt all too real to her.

“What… what do you want from me? Are you another one of my dreams?” Alayne asked, trying to make her voice sound strong, to show him she wasn't the scared, chirping little girl he had left behind in King's Landing over two years ago. She was now a woman grown and bastard-born at that. She wasn't the stupid girl Sansa had been. _Of course_ Alayne knew why the Hound was here but she wasn't about to tell _him_ that.

He chuckled darkly. “Do you really want me to spell it out for you _girl?”_ His rasping voice echoed from the darkness, making Sansa unexpectedly shiver in pleasure. “Or can't you figure that one out for yourself?  Hasn’t your father taught you anything?”

“Have you come back for your song?” Alayne asked shyly. _Of course you have, and you want me to sing that song prettily for you. Well, I'm ready and willing my beloved non-Ser, but I'll make you work for it,_ she suddenly thought giddily _._

Alayne could hear surprise in his voice when he replied. “My song?” Then he barked out a laugh. “Yes. Might be I've come back for my song,” he rasped. “But it isn’t going to be any knightly song you might know or the Mother’s Hymn either. And it sure won’t be that of that fool Florian and his cunt Jonquil.” Alayne thought she saw him smirk at her, while his hand was still moving up and down his hard member, still stroking himself.

Alayne raised her head up off the bed and strained to see him. Most of his body was still cast in shadow, though she could see the play of light on his hard muscles as he moved. She almost let out a small cry of disappointment and frustration at not being able to see his manhood clearly.

“What is it, little bird? Disappointed you can't see my cock from where you're lying?” He laughed and leaned forward again, throwing his face into the yellow, flickering light of the candle.

Her heart skipped a beat at seeing his face again; a face half-ruined by burns, a face upon which she had once feared to look. Now she wants to know everything about it, wants to feel the roughness of his scars underneath her fingertips. His grey eyes were boring into hers and she could see he was still smirking at her; she could also see the burnt side of his face twitch for a moment but then his face became almost serious.

He seemed to be thinking things through.

She watched as he rose slowly from the chair, his manhood still heavy in his hand. He was pulling at it almost thoughtlessly now as he made his way to the side of her bed. His sudden closeness made her heart thump in her chest, set her pulse racing in her veins so hard and fast that she felt as though her very skin was on fire.  She could feel herself becoming light-headed as her breath hitched higher in her throat, as her chest rose up and down in excitement and need for _something._

Sandor stopped by the side of her bed, his hips now of a height with her face and his engorged member standing fully erect from his breeches. Even though she knew it was unladylike, Alayne couldn’t stop staring, her eyes as big as saucers. Without meaning to, she opened her mouth slightly at the sight of it and swept her tongue across her parted lips earning herself a throaty laugh from the man above her.

It _was_ big and thick and long and _hard_ and Alayne felt a sudden rush of wetness seep from between her legs and onto the inside of her thighs. Her pulse raced and the pleasurable throbbing between her legs intensified.

“Do you like what you see, little bird?” Sandor asked, his voice low and hoarse. He was standing very close to the bed and Alayne could almost feel the heat radiating from his massive body. She could see him better now. The light from the candles cast a golden glow over his chest and her eyes started to roam over him shamelessly.

His entire body was criss-crossed with silvery scars, a testament to his long and dangerous life as a warrior and a killer. Her eyes took in his broad square shoulders before sweeping appreciatively over his muscular chest, then she quickly flickered her gaze back up to his face. His dark hair fell in front of his grey eyes, partly hiding the ruined side of his face from her view. Her eyes followed the dark stubble of his beard down his neck.  She lingered on the smooth skin of his collarbone, ran her eyes down the dark trail of his chest hair, over his hard, well-muscled stomach, then finally down, down, down to his groin.  The hair there was courser and she could see his stiff erection jutting out from his opened breeches.

She let out a soft moan at the sudden need she felt for his amazing powerful body to cover hers.

“Have you stopped leering at me now, girl? Might be I'm the one supposed to look you over,” Sandor growled. He had stopped stroking himself but he was still hard and Alayne licked her lips again. She suddenly thought that she wanted very much to take him in her mouth. Her friends Myranda Royce and Mya Stone had told her all about sucking on a man’s hard manhood to give him pleasure, going into great detail about how to do it. Alayne remembered how she had stood there, gaping at the two women comparing notes on how best to suckle on a man's . . . _cock_ – Randa had even ran to the kitchen and returned with a large pickle in her hand to practice on, to the three women's peals of laughter.

Alayne felt herself blush again as a new rush of wetness seeped from her womanly place. She started to squirm on the bed again, but it wasn't against her bonds Alayne was squirming: She was trying to rub her aching nub by brushing her thighs together. She let out a small, involuntary moan . . . a moan that Sandor Clegane noticed.

“What are you doing little bird?” he rasped, with a sudden curious glint in his grey eyes.

Alayne remembered how she was bastard born and strong, how she wasn't Sansa. She also remembered how the Hound hated liars. “I was trying to rub the ache between my legs,” she told him, feeling suddenly bold and brave.

“Is that right?” He trailed his left arm slowly over the bed and Alayne noticed the new burn he had on his arm. It looked healed but she was suddenly sad at the sight of it. _What have you been doing with yourself? What happened to you?_ She thought.

He lowered his face close in to hers. “But first, tell me your name, girl.” He rasped.

“Alayne Stone,” she said, out of habit.

Sandor frowned at her. “You know I hate liars, little bird. Tell me your _real_ name, girl.”

“Sansa . . . Sansa Stark.” It sounded so strange, but finally liberating, to hear her real name on her lips again. _I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell! Not Alayne Stone, Alayne is not real._ And it seemed to satisfy Sandor who smirked at her again, straightening himself as he finally started touching her. _Yes!_  

He started by putting his large right hand on her right ankle. The sudden feel of his warm skin against hers sent a jolt of lightening through her body. She could tell that he felt it too because he let out a low groan at the sudden thrilling sensation of their touching skins. He then let his hand trail slowly up, lifting the hem of her bed gown in its wake, caressing the smooth skin of her leg, before moving up her thigh in slow, light circles, making her squirm harder against him. She saw him hesitate, the fierce look on his face gone, replaced with something akin to pure unadulterated lust and . . . need.

“Tell me, are you wet for me little bird . . .?” his raspy voice trailed off and it was both hoarse and curious. Sansa let out a soft moan at his words and answered, “Yes.”

He moved his hand from her thigh, trailing surprisingly light fingertips down between her legs and slowly up to her throbbing lady parts. She kept her legs resolutely clamped together but Sandor could feel her wetness even with her legs closed.

He let out a loud groan when he felt how wet she really was there. “Seven bleeding hells,” he rasped. Sansa bucked her hips against his hand almost in pure reflex, trying to get some blessed friction from his fingers, but he snatched his hand away in complete surprise at her wanton reaction, growling low in his chest like an animal.

“No! Why are you stopping?” Sansa almost wailed. She needed his fingers on her aching nub again, needed him to rub her there just like she liked to do when she was alone in her room.

“This is not how it's supposed to go,” she heard him say, low in his throat. Then he reached out behind him and took out a knife.

Sansa's eyes opened in fright again for a moment, her heart beating hard against her ribcage, but then she jutted her chin at him, looking defiantly into his eyes. She knew he wasn't going to hurt her, despite the harshness of his earlier words. She remembered how he had once promised to keep her safe. “You won’t hurt me,” she simply told him.

“What do you know of that, little bird? Might be I’m here to hurt you.” Then Sandor slowly climbed onto the bed on top of her, his large, powerful body pressing her heavily into the feathered mattress. He brought the knife close to her face, roughly grasping the top of her bed gown with his left hand, making her gasp in surprise when in one swift practiced movement he cut through the front of her bed gown and ripped it open from top to bottom, tearing at the sleeves too.  Now her naked body was completely bared to his dark, lust-filled grey eyes, but even though she was completely exposed to him, Sansa still shuddered in expectation.

She felt a sort of smug satisfaction when she heard a low moan escape Sandor’s lips as he stared at her, drinking in her young supple body, his hard manhood standing out from his breeches and twitching like crazy while he stood completely unmoving over her. She could see he was breathing hard and it made her arousal soar at the expectation of what he would do to her next.

He dropped the knife almost thoughtlessly to the floor where it clattered loudly on the flagstones, and then, to her surprise, his hands reached out to tentatively stroke the underside of her breasts. Sansa held her breath as his calloused hands started caressing her slowly, carefully reaching up to cup her breasts before squeezing them lightly. Then he brought his thumbs over her pink nipples and started stroking her there too, making her moan softly as the sensation of his calloused thumbs over her sensitive nipples hardened them into tiny peaks. She arched her back against him, trying to press her breasts more fully into his huge hands in a sudden need to get more friction.

Sandor stopped what he was doing to look intently into her eyes, trying to find either encouragement or defiance there. Sansa bit down hard on her lower lip at the feeling of intense arousal that was slowly engulfing her. Her lips parted in want, her eyes pleading with him. _Please, don’t stop touching me_.

Assured that she wasn’t fighting against him, Sandor took this as all the encouragement he needed. He let his hands roam all over her body, caressing her lightly at first, stroking her almost everywhere – over her face and her neck, down to her collarbone and lower still, over her sensitive nipples and then down to her flat stomach, sending wonderful shivers down her spine and shooting stabs of pleasure directly between her legs. Then he lowered himself onto her, pressing his hips and his stiff erection against her aching nub, making her hips buck against him. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he lowered his head and pressed his lips lightly over hers.

Sansa thought how strange it was to feel both the soft part of his lips and the more leathery, burnt side of his mouth over hers, heightened by the sensation of the scratchiness of his stubble against the soft skin of her cheeks. But she didn’t turn or shy away from the kiss. In fact, the strange sensation thrilled her to her core, dredging up hazy memories of a similar kiss from two years ago; only somehow this one was so much more . . . _real_ and exciting.

His kisses were almost chaste at first, something Sansa thought strange coming from such a rough man as Sandor Clegane. But then Sandor’s mouth became more demanding, parting her lips with the tip of his tongue, darting it inside of her mouth, making her shiver with want. Sansa moaned and opened her mouth to let him in, responding to his kiss by rolling her tongue against his as his fevered kisses stoked the fire in her veins, his warm large hands gently caressing the sides of her face, almost burning to the touch . . .

After kissing her like that for several long minutes, Sandor’s hands returned to her breasts, making Sansa shudder again in pleasure underneath him. She wanted to wrap her arms around his neck but her hands were still tied to the headboard of her bed, frustrating her no end. She pulled at the rope hard but didn’t beg to be released from it . . . yet.

While she was caught in a whirlwind of arousal, Sansa almost cried out in frustration when Sandor left her needy mouth to trail wet kisses alongside her jawline. He nibbled on her left earlobe and then her right before he gently bit down on her neck, sending her sky-high on a new level of arousal before he sucked on it hard. He was marking her as his own, Sansa realized in a daze, and the realization ripped another moan from her throat.

“You’re such a needy little bird,” he half chuckled, half groaned in her ear. His breath was a warm caress against her sensitive skin, sending white hot stabs of pleasure coursing through her body.

Every time he did something new and different Sansa noticed how he would raise his head to look into her eyes and gage how she was reacting. She could sense a deep satisfaction, as well as pure lust in his eyes, for every single time she moaned or arched her back against him or reacted wantonly to what he was doing, making her aware that this was probably part of what he had said he wanted from her, part of his plan.

Sansa was going mad with arousal and all she wanted to do – besides getting her blessed release – was to touch him and caress him back. She could still feel his hard member pressing heavily against her mound and the throbbing between her legs was intensifying with each kiss, every caress he bestowed on her over-sensitized body.

Almost as if he could sense her frustration, he chuckled against her mouth. “Does the little bird still have that ache between her legs? Might be I can do something about that,” he said, his voice thick with lust.

“Yes,” she hissed, arching into him. _Gods! I need you now!_ Then remembering her courtesies she added. “Please, Sandor.”

Sandor heaved himself off of her and lay down to her right, propping himself on his elbow, his eyes intensely searching her face. Sansa could see how his pupils were blown, remembering what Randa had once told her about this peculiar reaction to sexual arousal . . . making it all the more thrilling.

Then the fingers of his right hand trailed lightly down over her stomach and still lower to the soft red curls that covered her mound. He slipped a finger over her wet, aching slit and Sansa bucked her hips against his hand again. Still, she kept her legs clamped shut while squirming under the intense feeling of pleasure that was rushing through her. She could feel her pulse throbbing between her legs with every heartbeat as he rubbed the tip of his large, calloused finger over her nub, making her pant in need.

Sansa could see that Sandor had expected her to let her thighs fall open wide for him but she had promised herself she would make him work hard for her song. So she still kept them closed shut, trying to hold back the release that was slowly building up inside of her.

He growled in clear frustration and looked at her hard for a moment, almost a glare. Sansa looked back at him dazedly, her chest heaving hard, her nipples tight with pure, intense arousal. His fingers continued their exploration as they stared at each other; he glided them over her entrance, rubbing her mound, then parted her slick folds and dipped the tip of his index finger inside of her. Sansa’s hips jumped at the intrusion, her legs quivering with the intense need to open wide for him, just so he could have full access to her womanhood, to finally allow him to _fuck_ her. The smirk on his face made it clear to her that he knew full well the effect that he had on her, the fact that she was about to yield to his touch. 

That was all the impetus Sandor needed. “Open up for me, little bird,” he groaned dazedly against her hair, his breath warm against her, making her shiver in pure delight.

Then he started to stroke her entire body, kissing her mouth, her neck, going down to her nipples, catching her right one in his mouth and suckling on it with enthusiasm, swirling it around with his tongue, while his right hand went back to rubbing between her legs over and over and over again. Sansa was caught up in a sweeping whirlwind of pleasure that was making her ache even more than before.

She moaned and arched under the onslaught of his touch, finally opening her legs for him, allowing his fingers to rub her hard little nub of flesh above her folds in tight, sharp circles. She heard Sandor’s growl of triumph against her ear, making her soar on pure desire alone, feeling her release coming just over the corner, needing a bit _more_. Then he dipped one, and then two fingers inside of her but not too deep, rubbing the inside of her womanhood, touching something there that made a strange and new incredibly intense feeling bloom inside of her.

Sansa’s moans hitched higher at the incredible sensation that was slowly overpowering her.  Her hips started to move jerkily as he rubbed over her mound with his thumb while his fingers fucked her hard and fast.

“Sing your sweet song for me now little bird,” he moaned. His lips latched onto her left nipple, his dark hair falling over her heaving chest. He sucked on it hard, the burnt side of his mouth bringing a blessed kind of friction on her breast that made her soar even higher. The combined feeling of his calloused fingers curled up inside of her womanhood rubbing in and out of her, and of his thumb stroking over her nub, finally made her lose complete control of her body.

And with that, Sansa Stark sang for Sandor Clegane; coming hard around his fingers, the muscles inside of her clenching hard and fast all around him while she moaned loudly in his ears, the sounds of her ecstatic cries of pleasure rising up into the room as she ground herself hard against his hand, making her soar even higher on pure pleasure alone.

As Sansa slowly came down from her climax, her heart thumping wildly in her chest, she felt something wet over her breasts where her beloved non-Ser had laid down his head. It took her a moment to realize that Sandor Clegane was weeping.


	3. Sandor and Sansa

**SANDOR AND SANSA**

Sandor hadn’t been ready for the overpowering feeling that overtook him when his little bird finally sang her sweet song for him; as she filled the room with the sounds of her moans and cries of pleasure, coaxed from her with his own hands, his touch, his mouth, his fingers.

As he’d laid his head over her chest, his body lying next to hers on the bed, breathing hard against her, all the bottled up feelings and emotions he had carried around with him since the Battle of the Blackwater had bubbled up to the surface. For the first time since he’d lain dying by the Trident, he had started to weep.

Dimly, he became aware that Sansa was speaking to him.

“It’s alright my love, it’s alright. Please, untie me now, I want to hold you, I want to love you. The bonds, they hurt me,” his little bird pleaded with him in her sweet voice.

Pulling himself together, Sandor turned around to sit on the side of Sansa’s bed. He turned his back to her – he didn’t want her to see him cry. He was a fucking warrior after all, not a bloody maiden.

He bent over to pick up the knife he’d dropped on the floor and without a word cut through Sansa’s bonds, releasing her wrists. He noticed with a pang of shame that there were red marks where the rope had chaffed at her soft flesh.

He thought she would flee and run from him now that he had freed her, even though she had finally sung her sweet song for him – after all, he was an ugly scarred dog, whom she had once been terrified of. He wasn’t one of the pretty knights from the songs she used to love so much. But instead of fleeing, Sansa wrapped her arms around his neck and turned his head towards her with firm but gentle hands, closing her soft mouth around his, kissing him deeply, making him _fucking moan_ into her mouth.

Sandor pushed her roughly away, too dazed and surprised by her reaction. He could see the look of hurt that crossed Sansa’s face, but the anger that he suddenly felt outweighed his concern for her feelings. 

“Why are you kissing me little bird?’ he snarled at her. ‘You should fly away from me, fly like the bird you are; I’m not a good man. I just took my song from you.”

“You didn’t take it Sandor,” she answered back softly, cupping his burnt cheek, drying his salty tears with her thumbs. “I gave it to you willingly. I knew why you were here, what you wanted from me.” She smiled at him, tears shining in her eyes. “I didn’t know then, back in King’s Landing, what you meant about me giving you a song one day. I was too young, too innocent. I didn’t understand. But I know now – in fact I have known for quite some time, ever since I came here to the Eyrie and the Vale. And I have been waiting for this moment for almost two years . . .”

Sandor looked incredulously at her. “Are you mad, woman? What I did to you on the night of the Battle of the Blackwater . . . I wanted you then. Wanted to fuck you hard and I would have, until you started singing that fucking Mother’s Hymn!” he snarled again. Sandor couldn’t stop himself from being mean to his little bird, his emotions were such a jumble of confusion and hurt and pain and even . . . hope, all caught up in his chest. He’d been so angry for so long – had wanted her for so long that it physically fucking _hurt_ him.

Sansa grabbed him by the shoulders, tugging at him so he would turn his body completely towards her onto the bed, which he did reluctantly, eying her suspiciously. His legs were now fully stretched out in front of him on the bed and Sansa hitched her long legs over his thighs, straddling him completely, rubbing herself against his still-erect member.

Sandor hadn’t peaked while he had made her reach her release, being too intent on her own pleasure to take care of himself though she had felt how _hard_ and aroused he’d been the whole time. Sansa now wanted to be the one pleasuring him. In fact she wanted him even more because of this.

“No, you wouldn't have, my love,” she murmured against his lips. Then she kissed him deeply, hungrily, wanting him to understand how much she loved and needed him.

Sandor brought his hand up to the back of her head, feeling her shiver against his touch, and pressed her lips hard against his own. Feeling both confused, and so much in love with her it sent hot stabs of pain through his heart. He let her part his lips with her tongue, let her bite down on his lower lip, sending sparks of arousal through him. Sansa’s naked skin against his own felt so warm and so good it made him groan against her lips. The need for him to fuck her properly until she passed out in his arms suddenly became overpowering, making his cock ache painfully. The feeling of her wet warm cunt rubbing against him making his hips buck, he lifted her off of him to take his breeches off, spurred on by the sudden need to be completely naked with her.

He lifted her up again and pulled her roughly onto his lap, making Sansa gasp in surprise. Then, as if in some small apology for his rough treatment, he gently spread her legs wide open on either side of him and pushed her against his hard throbbing member, rubbing her against him. He needed her so much right now. . .

Sansa moaned at the feeling and rubbed her womanhood harder against his thick shaft, her arms clasped tightly around his neck, her hard little nipples sliding against his chest, making them both moan together. She could feel how excited he was when she felt a sudden wetness against herself that wasn’t entirely her own. Reaching her hand down between them to finally touch his engorged member, she found that a clear fluid was leaking from the tip of his cockhead, and had smeared over the lower part of his stomach, making her exclaim in surprise.

“I’m not the only one who’s wet,” she said dazedly against his lips, smiling against him.

Sandor chuckled darkly. “Little bird, I’ve been hard ever since I clapped eyes on you. You have no idea how hard it’s been not to peak until now,” he groaned, as she gently rubbed the fluid over the top of his cock in circles with her thumb.

Sansa ground herself against him, rocking her hips gently against his. “I want you to peak, I want to see your face while you come inside me,” she said to him. There was no hint of embarrassment in her voice, no blush on her cheeks, even as she started stroking him, making his hips buck hard and pushing his hard member further into her hand, making the both of them groan in pleasure.

Sandor looked at her searchingly. “You must no longer be a maid then,” he rasped. Suddenly, the thought of that blasted Imp Tyrion _fucking_ Lannister or even Littlefinger between Sansa’s long legs, making her moan her pretty moans, entering her, making her come, made his chest burst with jealousy . . . _Those buggering fuckers, I’ll kill them all._

“I’m still a maid, Sandor,” she murmured against him. Wrapping both her arms around his neck again, she continued to rock her hips against his hard manhood. “Tyrion never touched me and Littlefinger, even though he tried . . . well I never let him.”

Sandor was suddenly filled with a pure blinding rage. “I’ll kill him, I’ll kill the fucker, I swear to you little bird. I should never have left you in King’s Landing for Joffrey, for Tyrion . . . for any of them . . .” He felt his heart clench in sadness and pure fucking shame again but Sansa hushed him with a kiss.

“I don’t want his blood on your hands, my love, and I don’t want to talk of Littlefinger or Joffrey or anyone else now. I just want you to make love to me.”

Sandor groaned deeply at her words and kissed her hard, prying her mouth open with his tongue, making her moan inside his mouth. He pressed himself against her lithe body, the two of them melting together in pure want and blinding need, their skins hot against each other.

They kissed like that for a long time, while their hands roamed over each other’s bodies in exploration. Sansa’s hands, now finally free to roam over his strong, hard body as they pleased, slid over his large shoulders, caressing his broad chest, his well-muscled arms, then slowly making their way down again to his flat stomach. All the while, Sandor breathed hard and fast, his little bird’s soft touches making him as excited as a bloody green squire having his first fuck.

Her hands caressed both of his strong thighs, feeling the strange coarseness of the hair on his legs while she saw for the first time the ugly puckered scar on his left thigh, running light fingertips over it. _Oh what happened to you my love?_ She thought again. She slowly made her way up his hips, her hard nipples brushing against the hair of his chest again, sending goose bumps down her spine, making her head snap back in a silent moan, exposing her throat to his warm open-mouthed kisses.

The throbbing between her legs had returned with full force and Sansa was suddenly overwhelmed by a storm of want for Sandor. It was so overpowering that she groaned loudly and, without thinking, she grabbed his hard manhood, steadied it against her wet, swollen slit and sank down on his engorged member in one slow hard movement.

Sandor froze underneath her at the sudden feeling of her tight cunt around him, squeezing his cock with such exquisite pressure that he could hardly stand it. He pulled her even closer to him, his arms crushing her against him. “Sansa, little bird, look at me,” Sandor panted and pleaded with her. She’d stopped moving as soon as she’d sunk completely down on him, taking his thick hard shaft fully inside of her in one swift stroke. He could feel her entire body trembling against him. Taking her chin gently between his strong fingers, he looked Sansa deep in the eyes, seeing her pain while she saw his raw pleasure.

He was so big and large she felt overstretched almost to the point of pain. But it soon receded when Sandor started to move slowly underneath her, swaying his hips slightly so her nub could get some friction. One of his hands fumbled down between their bodies to reach her hard little nub of flesh above her folds; the pain began to slowly ebb away as he started to rub her there in tight little circles. Soon enough, the sting of her lost maidenhead was replaced with a slow, languorous type of pleasure.

“Does it hurt?” he rasped in her ear.

“A little,” she admitted through gritted teeth. “Less when you touch me . . .”

Scooping his hands under her bottom, Sandor lifted her up and rolled them both over, depositing her underneath him on the bed, while settling himself back down between her legs. His entire weight was on top of her, creating another kind of incredibly pleasurable friction against her nub, making her shudder with a renewed kind of pleasure. His cock was fully inside of her now; Sansa felt so filled by him she almost sobbed.

“It’s alright now little bird, it’s alright,” Sandor murmured against her neck as he gently kissed her hammering pulse, making her moan at his words, a mirror of her own earlier words to him.

Determined to kiss her pain away, Sandor leaned in again to claim her mouth. Sansa’s legs had wrapped themselves around Sandor’s hips so she could rub herself against him again, but he reached for them and hitched them even higher, so his painfully hard cock could rub that place inside of her that had made her come so hard when he’d used his fingers to fuck her earlier.

He started moving his hips slowly, looking at Sansa’s face as he fucked into her gently. As the look of pain on her face slowly gave way to one of pleasure, Sandor started bucking his hips a little harder against her, feeling his balls slapping softly against her buttocks, heightening his own pleasure at the feeling of his hard cock sliding in and out of her tightness. The look on her face alone was almost enough to send him over the edge. He’d been so close to his own climax so many times tonight that he felt himself slowly losing control, but now the look of pure pleasure on Sansa’s face made him try to pace himself. Just like she’d said she wanted to see him peak while he fucked her, Sandor also wanted to see her peak while he drilled into her, and that needed a bit of control now, didn’t it?

So he tried to think of anything else but the intense pleasure he was feeling, while Sansa was obviously letting herself go, moaning loudly with each deep thrust of his hips into her. The feeling inside her womanhood was becoming so blissful that she couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t feel anything else but Sandor’s hard member moving inside of her, completely filling her up and then retreating, and then filling her up again and then retreating and again and again and again . . . making her almost sob in pleasure.

Her clear blue eyes were locked into his grey gaze as their hips rocked together towards the same blessed need for their release, as they fucked each other harder and faster both with restraint and abandon.

“Did you know that I kept dreaming of you all the time I was here in the Vale?” Sansa panted underneath him. “I dreamt of you coming to me almost every night, loving me, making love to me. I never wanted anyone else.” She moaned and arched her back against him.

Her words made Sandor’s breath catch in his throat. “Oh Gods!” he groaned. “I never thought you would ever want me, little bird, never dreamed you could ever desire me with my ruined face. You never looked at me willingly and your head was always so full of pretty knights –”

Sansa raised her head and brought her lips to his good ear. “I don’t want pretty knights. I only want you. No one could ever compare to you, do you know that?”

 _Oh fuck you all seven buggering gods_. Sandor was grunting hard, trying to keep his climax – and his hips – at bay until Sansa was ready to peak around his cock. She was making him so painfully hard he didn’t know how much longer he could last, especially now, spurred on by Sansa’s admission that she had dreamed of him, wanted him for so long now. _Not long now, oh gods, she’s so fucking tight, so fucking arousing. Seven help me I’ll peak soon . . ._

Sandor noticed that Sansa was heaving hard too, her beautiful face starting to contort with pleasure beneath him. By the sound of her moans he knew she was close to her release, so he finally let himself go, rolling his hips hard against hers, the sound of skin slapping against skin heightening their pleasure, both of their moans mingling together into one beautiful song.

Sansa was soaring high on pure bliss, feeling her release slowly coming just . . . right . . . there, but she kept her eyes on Sandor’s face, watching his composure slowly unravel as he fucked her. His hips started to move jerkily against hers, his face also contorting with pleasure. His grey eyes were still locked to her blue ones; the look she gave him was filled with such lust and arousal that Sandor could scarce believe that he was on the receiving end of it. Nonetheless, he knew that the depth of emotion in her eyes was only reflected in his.

Sansa was now teetering on the edge of her blessed release. She could feel how Sandor’s manhood kept hitting that special spot inside of her again and again, and knew her climax was coming hard and fast. Whimpering with need underneath him, Sansa bucked her hips hard against him.

Her hands slid from his back to his buttocks and pressed him harder into her. Then suddenly her back was arching against Sandor’s chest and she was hit with the full force of her release, shuddering with pure pleasure as she felt it blooming from between her legs to every part of her body. Sansa moaned her climax soundlessly, her eyes still on Sandor, silently pleading with him. _Oh Gods Yes! Sandor yes! My love, I love you . . ._

Sandor felt Sansa’s release hit her hard as her inner muscles clenched rapidly, almost painfully, around his cock and her body started to convulse underneath him. The moment it happened he roared his own release, his hips jerking even harder into Sansa as he was engulfed in pure fucking bliss, his manhood pulsing hard inside of her as his seed spurted hot and fast inside her sweet, tight cunt. “Oh fuck!” he groaned loudly as he came hard.

His little bird was so beautiful with her face glowing with pleasure like that under him that Sandor’s heart almost burst in his chest as he reached down hungrily for her mouth, his tongue begging to be teased by hers while he moaned her name into her mouth. “Sansa _. . ._ ”

Hearing her own name – her real name – spill from his lips, seeing his face transformed with such pleasure, seeing and feeling him come so deep inside of her, made Sansa’s chest swell. The burned side of his face was hidden in the shadows so she could only see his good side, but he looked so beautiful to her that her heart almost burst from love of him.  Sandor’s mouth came down hungrily upon her mouth and his tongued teased at hers, making them both shudder the last throes of their release into each other’s mouths, as their hips ground desperately against each other in order to draw out their climax.

*****

Sansa and Sandor were both lying together on the bed, covered in sweat. The sheets were thrown carelessly over them, their arms and legs entwined in a jumble of limbs, their hearts beating hard in their chests almost in unison. The both of them were so filled and satiated by the intensity of their lovemaking that they didn’t feel the need to speak. They stayed together like this, unmoving and holding on to each other almost until dawn broke over the horizon.

Sandor had never felt so loved, so happy than he was feeling now in his little bird’s embrace. He was still marvelling over the fact that she had actually loved him for so long, waited for him for so long – just as he had loved her for so long too.

When the first rays of light started to fill Sansa’s chamber – which had long ago been plunged into almost darkness during their lovemaking, with only the moonlight guiding them as they made love to each other – Sandor suddenly rose to full alert.

“Shit. We can’t stay here little bird, Littlefinger will know of what we’ve done now. I’ve stayed here too long and he has spies everywhere. It’s no longer safe for you to stay here.”

Sansa looked at him, comprehension dawning fast on her. “You’re… you’re not leaving me behind again?” Sansa looked up at him with tears of happiness welling into her eyes.

“Seven bleeding hells, how could I ever leave you again woman, when the way you make me feel sends me to all kinds of seven heavens the fucking Septons never told me about?” He sounded almost annoyed, but in his tone Sansa glimpsed a touch of mirthfulness that she had never heard before.

Sandor dragged her tight against him and quickly brushed his lips over hers, making her suddenly laugh in giddy excitement as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back deeply, almost hungrily, leaving them both breathless.

“Pack anything you can bring in one bag little bird,” he rasped against her mouth. “I’m getting out of here and I’m taking you with me.”


End file.
